


thought I could be a home

by kaithartic (bluedreaming)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/kaithartic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Do you love me?</em> he doesn't ask, because he can see the answer hanging in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thought I could be a home

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Heads or Tails](https://open.spotify.com/track/7n3hYLP3l7asjXeK1pub65) by JOY.

 

It's not all at once, or even in noticeable increments.They've been living in the house for years now, everything same old same old, Lu Han very particular about making the bed, Jongin a little too obsessive about his manga collection. They compromise, Jongin learns how to make coffee in the morning, thick rich steam filling the kitchen with the aroma of coffee beans while Lu Han makes the bed exactly how he likes it, smooth, tucked in with hospital corners.

Jongin smiles when Lu Han comes up behind him in the kitchen, nuzzling his neck, soft lips to warm skin. It tickles, and Jongin laughs, handing Lu Han his coffee and reaching for the hot cocoa mix in the cupboard.

"I can't believe you don't like coffee," Lu Han says, but the words sound like _I love you_.

"I can't believe you can't even drink coffee without making the bed," Jongin says, and the words sound like _I love you more_.

 

Winter comes, with thick blankets of snow covering the drive that need to be shoveled, thick comforters spread over the bed that take an extra moment to spread flat. They sit in front of the fire, wrapped in an afghan, and watch the flames.

"Did you ever think you'd be here with me?" Jongin asks. Lu Han looks over at him, eyes filled with the glow of the fire.

"Real life is better than imagination," he says, and smiles. Jongin looks at the fire.

 

Spring comes, mud tracked into the kitchen, Lu Han mopping the floor, Jongin rummaging through the basket to find a scarf he wants and can't find.

"Sorry," Jongin says, walking out the door. "I'm going to be late because of a meeting."

Lu Han hums and keeps mopping the floor. He doesn't like feeling the crunch of sand under his feet when he slips out of bed at night to get a cup of milk.

 

Summer comes, mosquitoes and fruit flies that buzz over everything. Lu Han frowns, and wipes the counter every few minutes, clearing everything away that could possibly be attracting them. Jongin buys traps, and presses a kiss to Lu Han's temple, whisper sweet nothing into the strands of his dark hair.

It gets hotter, the flies like a corona, mosquitoes humming at night outside the screens. Lu Han drips with sweat, pushes away even the sheet. Jongin is a heavy sleeper, lying on his stomach, arm dangling off the edge. It looks like a precarious way to sleep. Lu Han goes to the kitchen to get something to drink, to soothe the dryness of his throat, and finds the fruit flies covering a small pile of dead ants on the counter.

 

Autumn falls in with the leaves, red and yellow and fading brown beneath trampling feet, Lu Han wraps himself in sweaters, Jongin comes home late, cheeks rosy from the chill lurking in the corners of the last warm spell before the cold sets in.

Lu Han sits at the kitchen table, hand curled around an empty cup of coffee, grounds piled in a tiny heap at the bottom. Around him he can almost see the ghosts of their past, the smiles, the kisses, the little gifts that don't mean anything except _I love you_.

"This house is haunted," he says, when Jongin comes home, and Jongin looks at him and nods. Lu Han passes him the papers, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and walks out into the dark.

Jongin signs his name, and sighs, looking at the keys resting on the table.

 _Do you love me?_ he doesn't ask, because he can see the answer hanging in the air.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A metaphorical interpretation of the prompt _Haunted Hause AU_.


End file.
